


Maybe I'll Find Shelter in Your Arms

by Insomne



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Keith (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 01:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14438754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomne/pseuds/Insomne
Summary: Shiro has a nightmare and Keith knows just how to wind him down with love, patience, and intimacy.





	Maybe I'll Find Shelter in Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gardevoirite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardevoirite/gifts).



> for liv (softlysheith) 
> 
> i was your gift-ee for the vld ship exchange and, first and foremost, i'm so incredibly sorry for how late this is. i was gonna write shallureith for you, but after i wrote at least five plots, i realized i had no idea how to write a threesome. since you've enraptured me in this rarepair hell, though, i /will/ master how to write shallureith smut and dedicate it to you as part two of your gift! god bless mei for all the information she pulled out of you for that ship :')) it won't go to waste, i promise!
> 
> anyway, i really do hope you enjoy my attempt at angst and smut!!
> 
> edit: it is now proofread lmao

   Shiro wakes with a start. 

 

His heartbeat skyrockets, pumping cold blood throughout his body. When he sits up, every one of his frayed nerves is on end, searching for danger and readying itself for the attack, chest heaving, rasping oxygen through a burning sternum. Sweat beads on his forehead, the drops clinging together and threatening to slip down his skin. Gears and wheels whir beside him, softly, barely noticeable, but his ears -- pricked in alert -- recognize it as a blare. 

 

He turns his head towards the sound, flinching when his eyes fall on his arm. Curling his fingers, he draws a sharp breath when the whir gets louder in lieu of silent joints. 

 

From his left comes small sigh, followed by the rustle of a body under sheets he doesn’t recognize. 

 

Shiro’s head jerks to the side, staring at the body intensely as he readies his stance to defend himself. His metallic arm is poised to jab, fingers stretched firm and unmovable when the sheets pull away to reveal a messy tuft of long, stark black hair. The green lights around the room he has yet to place glimmer off the dark hair, and -- as the sheets pool at the body’s waist when they sit up -- the lights reveal a naked pair of shoulders and back, highlighting and contouring the defined muscles in soft green. He lowers his hand as he sees the body’s nonexistent alarm, the way it moves and holds itself like it knows the room it's in. Like it owns it. 

 

Shiro never killed out of pleasure. It was never his vice, not even close. So, as he notes the relaxed posture of the other person, his fight or flight instincts melt away, though his hair still stands on alert. 

 

Pushing their hair behind their ear, the person leans back and turns to face him. 

 

“Shiro?” They ask, in a deep voice, gravelly from being woken so suddenly. 

 

Shiro’s eyes rave across the body, unabashed, taking in every single detail of the man from the toned stomach to the pale skin gleaming green, the straight nose and cupid’s bow lips, and the thick eyebrows framing dark, dark, impossibly dark, hooded eyes wide in concern. 

 

His heart plummets to his stomach when he can’t place a name to the face. 

 

“Shiro.” He demands. 

 

Shiro shakes his head. He doesn’t recognize this person. He can’t stop staring at his dark eyes. 

 

“Shiro.” He repeats, firmer. “Shiro. Hey. Hey, hey, it’s okay-- you’re okay.” 

 

Licking his lips, Shiro tries to answer the other man, tries to make a sound, but his throat is closed and dry. The only thing it rasps out is a low, “W-who--”

 

The man understands immediately. 

 

“Keith.” He says. “I’m Keith. I’m in your bed because we sleep together. You’re safe.” 

 

“Safe.” Shiro breathes out, shaky, unsure.

 

“You’re safe.” The man -- Keith -- repeats. Then, softly, he asks, “Shiro, do you know where you are?” 

 

Swallowing, Shiro looks around the room. His eyes map out the thin green line that emits soft light, the metal walls and dark corners, the red jacket hung on the far right. His mind, blank, recognizes nothing at the moment. The diluted hum of a big engine tells him its a ship. The fear clutching his chest with sharp claws and razor teeth tells him it's a Galra ship. He looks at Keith and shakes his head. 

 

“You’re in the Castle of Lions,” says Keith. He tucks away all the hair from his face behind his ears and turns so that the lights illuminate his entire face. Shiro stares at his eyes once more. “You’re safe. This is a good ship, I promise.” 

 

Shiro shakes his head again. His heart beats fast, hard, and painful, almost audibly asking for a painkiller to dull the ache of confusion. When he speaks, his voice is firmer, demanding answers, though it shows no signs of distrust towards Keith. There’s an itch behind his breastbone that tells him Keith is good-- that he’s been good as long as Shiro perceives to have known him. “I don’t know. I don’t remember where I am or who--” He cuts himself off. He can’t finish the sentence as a particular expression flashes across Keith’s face too quick for him to catch, much quicker than that of his enemies when they spotted a weakness Shiro had to defend faster than they could strike. 

 

“That’s okay.” He says, calmly. When he offers Shiro a soft smile, the dimples beside his lips are familiar and reassuring and attractive beyond measure. “Patience yields focus, right? Be patient. You’ll remember.” 

 

Silence washes over them, interrupted by Keith speaking low, telling Shiro he’s safe, telling him about the Castle and the people in it. Eventually, Shiro starts finishing his sentences. He fills in random information about Pidge when Keith tells him she reprogrammed a robot named Rover. He tells Keith Hunk likes to cook, and Allura is a princess, and that Keith’s favorite color is yellow, even when people always think it’s red based on his apparel. Keith smiles and confirms all of this to be true, and when Shiro’s dissociation dilutes and he rasps out a shaky, “Keith.” in remembrance, gripping his hand with bruising force, Keith only rubs his thumb in patterns across Shiro’s trembling skin. 

 

“Let’s move, yeah?” Keith rubs the hand unoccupied with Shiro’s across his bare arm, fingers skimming over from the hem of his tank top to his bionic wrist. Shiro is quiet, his forehead against Keith’s clavicle. “We can go to the observatory and look at the planets and stars.” 

 

Silence answers Keith. 

 

He tries again. “It’s just at the end of the hall. Come on, Shiro. We gotta move you.” 

 

At this, Shiro sniffs and becomes pliant under Keith’s pull of his hand. He follows his boyfriend, too exhausted to administer his own actions by himself. The door swooshing open is barely acknowledged by either of them, and the cold metal tiles under their bare feet stinging the way sucking on ice numbs your mouth. 

 

The observatory is expectantly empty for only seven people living in the Castle, five asleep considering the ungodly hour it is. Keith holds Shiro’s hand as he taps on the glass podium, turning on the hologram. He guides to controls until they stand there looking at the Milky Way Galaxy. Shiro’s eyes, glued to their home planet, snap to Keith as he feels a soft tug at his hand. 

 

“Sit with me.” He says. Shiro follows. 

 

Although calm in Keith’s trusting presence, anxiety nags at the back of his head. His skin still crawls as he lowers his body and feels Keith’s body warmth cover his back, draping himself over it, cheek leaned against his shoulder blade. 

 

Shiro still shakes when he parts his lips and says, “Tell me something,” his voice barely above a whisper. Keith contemplates this, tracing his fingers in odd shapes across Shiro’s fifth and sixth rib. 

 

“What do you want to hear?” 

 

“Anything.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

Keith wraps his arms loosely over Shiro’s waist, holding his wrist to keep them in place. He scoots closer, his chest now pressed against the middle of his partner’s back, protective and calming. 

 

“ _ ‘Long years apart--’ _ ” His voice shakes. “ _ ‘--can make no breach a second cannot fill-- the absence of a witch does not-- cannot-- invalidate a spell.’ _ ” Shiro shifts, his gaze going from Earth to Venus at his words. Keith continues. “ _ ‘Who says the absence of a witch ‘invalidates’ his spell? The embers of a thousand years-- years uncovered by the hand that fondled them when they were fire-- will stir, gleam, and understand.’ _ ” 

 

His heart beats loud against Shiro’s back, though not in fear. Shiro curls his hand over Keith’s and squeezes before turning to face him. 

 

“When did you start waxing poetic?” He asks. 

 

“When you left.” 

 

“I was getting mauled by aliens and you were memorizing Emily Dickinson?” 

 

Keith frowns at this and corrects him harshly. “While you were fighting for your life, I was pouring myself into everything you owned.” 

 

Shiro looks away. His eyes land on Pluto-- on Kerberos. 

 

He’s quiet for a while. He knows Keith can sense he’s not thinking of anything in particular, just reminiscing the feeling of certain events, and maybe he’s in too deep, but Keith doesn’t interrupt. Not yet. He gives him as much time as he needs, and Shiro is forever thankful Keith remodeled his whole life a total of three times in two years to accommodate all these different versions of Shiro. And he’s never been anything short of patient and understanding, even when he and Shiro were first reunited and his PTSD episodes once prompted him to activate his hand because his vest had fallen from its hook, or when he wouldn’t come out of the bathroom because Keith’s repetitive movements suddenly stopped and, in his head, he imagined gruesome scenes he could come across if he entered the room. He’d almost sobbed in relief when Keith called out his name and asked him if everything was alright. 

 

His eyebrow twitches at the memory, pulling into a frown. His throat can only hold back so many words, and they already itch to be purged and confessed. As Keith watches him with calm eyes, Shiro hopes the younger man can be the strong one for both of them right now. But, of all the words emitted from Shiro’s lips, the ones that come out now are the least either of them expects. 

 

“We’re broken.” 

 

Keith visible bristles at that. “We’re not broken.”

 

“ _ I’m  _ broken.” He corrects. 

 

“You are  _ not _ broken.” 

 

The way Keith stares at him prompts a shiver down his spine. He sighs, tired, anxious, and says, “I know.” Keith’s expression relaxes as he watches Shiro swipe a hand over his face. He’s quiet as Shiro gathers his thoughts before continuing. “Sometimes it’s hard not to feel like I am, Keith.” 

 

Silence lingers after his statement for one-- two-- fours beats, waiting for Shiro to continue. It’s after a minute, when Keith is a second away from opening his mouth, that Shiro speaks again. 

 

“I know we’re not broken. That  _ I’m  _ not broken. I know that I’m--  _ we’re--  _ coping with this,” he pauses to gesture between them, to point at the invisible embodiment of his trauma as if it sits beside them at all times, “the best we can under these circumstances-- that there are other people who have it worse and that it doesn’t belittle my own struggles. I know that my anxiety and depressive episodes and panic attacks are normal for people with PTSD. As imperfect as I am,  _ I know I’m not broken _ , but, dammit, Keith, that doesn’t mean sometimes I don’t feel like I am.”

 

The stars clustered behind Keith’s head now move through his hair. He looks at Shiro without a trace of pity. In its place stands love and support and understanding. He says nothing, though he nods to let Shiro know he’s listening and he cares and he’s patient with him. 

 

“It’s hard to pretend I didn’t kill all these people the way I did.” He spits out, the word’s acids burning the back of his teeth. He feels Keith intertwining their fingers, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “It’s hard to be the leader everyone expects me to be when I wake up certain days not knowing right from left. I held Lance the other day --  _ Lance! --  _ as he sobbed because he killed a Galra soldier. How do I tell him it’s okay because this is war when it’s not even close to okay! How do I tell him I’ve done worse--”

 

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice is strong as he reprimands him. He cups his face, fingers firm over Shiro’s chiseled jaw. “You’re being too hard on yourself.” 

 

“I--”

 

“No.” Keith looks at him with dark eyes full of compassion. “You did all these things you hate yourself for, I get it, but you did it to  _ survive _ . You were in a kill or be killed situation. Not a day goes by where you don’t regret taking lives, but you’re here now, protecting people and saving the universe. You didn’t do it out of malice.” He squeezes their intertwined hands. Shiro leans into his touch, subsequently leaning closer to Keith. “You are good, Shiro. You have good in you, no matter what anything or anyone tells you or how many times you go back to the memory and think of what you could’ve done differently to save instead of kill.”

 

They hold each other’s stare, not a challenge to see who looks away first, but to reassure the other through the silence that they are loved regardless of flaws. 

He loves him. He loves the Keith Shiro met when he was a bratty teenager with no self-discipline and patience, with hair too long for Garrison regulations, who shared Shiro’s love for mac and cheese and vintage video games and cars and engines. He loves the Keith who's half Galra and loves Shiro more than the universe can hold itself together -- loves strong enough to create planets with a kiss and destroy them with a goodbye. With stars dancing across his skin like freckles, dimples deep and handsome, teeth straight and jaw sharp, big eyes and dark eyelashes so unnatural they’re the first thing anyone notices when they met him. He loves it all.

 

“Purple,” Shiro says suddenly without context. 

 

Keith’s eyebrows frown softly. He tilts his head to the side, a strand of hair falling over his eyes. “What’s purple, Shiro?” 

 

His name being repeated so and so many times would drive him insane, given any other moment, but right now Keith’s baritone voice pronouncing it time after time like it’s a prayer that can save the universe from Zarkon himself is enough to calm a thousand anxious hearts. So, Shiro answers. 

 

“Your eyes.” 

 

“My eyes.” Keith deadpans. 

 

“When you woke up, I thought they were black.” This makes Keith’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, pulling a smile from both men. “They’re dark purple.” 

 

Keith chuckles, low and soft and sweet enough to delve into like caramel. The constellation by his temple catches in his iris, lighting one eye lilac while the other remains dark toned. “My dad used to say they were like my mom--  _ mauve _ .” His lips contort playfully around the word, rolling his eyes as if it’s a blatant lie instead of a simple color. 

 

But Shiro nods seriously in spite of the smile adorning his lips. “They are.” 

 

The look of bewilderment his partner gives him is enough to make airy little chuckles bubble up from Shiro’s chest, prompting Keith to grin and lean over between Shiro’s spread legs, bringing their lips together in a quick kiss. 

 

Shiro’s year of solitude crashes down on him at once, and, although he’d touched and been touched by Keith after reuniting, he surges forward to capture his lips again, desperate and touch-starved. Keith hums against him, surprised, though not opposed to the brash movement. 

 

Parted lips slide against the other, messy and familiar. Keith slides further between Shiro’s legs and leans his weight on the hand holding Shiro’s, his other slipping from Shiro’s jaw to his neck, pressing lightly against his pulse-point. With a tongue sweeping over his lower lip, Shiro opens up to Keith, the way he’s always done since they met years ago. 

 

Shiro sighs as Keith’s fingers dig into his undercut, legs brushing over each other when he moves to straddle Shiro’s thick thighs, his legs spread wide to accommodate him. Sweet and slow, Shiro keeps his hand at Keith’s hips, digging in when Keith leans back to speak against his lips, “You’re perfect, Shiro, even when you think you’re not.” 

 

The stars shine across Keith’s sternum now, and Shiro doesn’t stop to think before he pressed his mouth to Orion’s belt and kisses his pale skin, wet and open-mouthed. He feels the sharp intake of breath Keith takes and the vibrations of a low moan that follow afterward. He cranes his neck back, giving Shiro more space, which he takes happily, closing his lips and sucking a bite on the star-speckled skin. He leaves proof of his love all over Keith’s neck, melting as Keith arches and presses their chests together. 

 

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he whispers low over the shell of Shiro’s ear. “Let me show you why I’d fight the universe for you as many times as it takes.” 

 

He leans back to meet Shiro’s hooded gaze, and bumps their noses together. Their lips brush as he speaks again and Shiro’s heart skyrockets once more. 

 

“Let me make love to you.” 

 

Shiro barely nods before Keith is pressing their lips together again, biting his lower lip, pulling moans and sighs as his hands travel south and over his pectorals. Over the material of his tank, Keith skims his fingers over the nub of Shiro’s nipple. He flinches, humming against Keith’s tongue.

 

Between thumb and forefinger, he circles the nipple, increasing the pressure as Shiro’s sighs turn breathier and lower. He kisses his cheek and jaw before pressing his lips to Shiro’s pulse, teeth scraping softly. When he presses the pads of his thumbs to the nub mercilessly, shivers rack through his entire frame. He pulls Keith closer by the waist, hips meeting and moving slow, before picking up the pace and grinding down. 

 

Despite the whine and the inevitable cliché of feeling like he doesn’t know where one of them begins and where the other ends, Keith unhooks his legs from Shiro and crawls backward between his legs. His left hand pushes at his chest until he lies on his elbows. His right pulls away the tank top, bunching it at Shiro’s collarbone as he fans out hot breath over his nipples. 

 

The older man moans shameless and loud. Keith tweaks his nipple, lips lowering and finally --  _ finally --  _ wrapping them around the other.

 

“Aah,” Shiro’s breath comes out long and high pitched. “God, yes.”

 

Keith hums against his pezon, tongue lapping over it, teeth grazing and cheeks suctioning. 

 

“Ha- _ ah!” _

 

Keith switches to the other nipple, repeating the process and dragging his blunt nails down Shiro’s toned abs. He licks a thick stripe between his pecs, squeezing them once --  _ kneading  _ them -- before he trails down kisses on his stomach, stopping at his hip bones. At this point, Shiro rubs a hand through Keith’s hair, affectionately cupping his jaw. Offering him a soft smile, Keith turns his gaze down to the hard length hidden beneath briefs. 

 

Getting aroused had proven to be difficult after his Galra imprisonment, more so after being dumped with the weight of protecting the universe, but Keith is anything but relentless. Especially after the night Shiro had confessed in the darkness of their room that he missed sex and missed the feeling of being aroused. It took him back to simpler times, he’d said. He missed those late night talks with Keith at the Garrison where things got so deep, one of them had to crack a sex joke to make sure the other was okay. He missed those sparring sessions where he’d find the fuel to jerk off to the thought to the image of Keith holding him down and flipping him over with his brute leg strength. Confessing this with burning cheeks, Keith had kissed him like Shiro had single-handedly saved the universe with a sentence, not just admitted he jerked it to his best friend. The blowjob he got felt like he saved their own universe, though. 

 

Now, they both know just how to twist their buttons and go from a twenty-minute quickie to two hours worth of sex.

 

As Keith presses kiss after kiss down the milky expanse of thick, strong thighs, Shiro feels his heart pumping liquid fire through his veins and right to his dick. Keith gives a hard bite to the inside of his thigh, smoothing his tongue over it as a half meant apology. Shiro shifts his hips, patient, though silently sending a prayer to whatever Altean gods Coran and Allura have that Keith leans over and does something about his dick already. As if reading his mind, the younger man’s hand comes to rest at the bend between Shiro’s legs. He spreads the open to give Keith room, though far and obscenely wide, making Keith chuckle against his skin. 

 

He mouths at his cock over his briefs, huffing hot breath and dampening the cloth already wet with precome. Shiro moans low and throaty when a hand cups his length, eyes falling closed and jaw slack.

 

Keith rubs, digging his heel softly and kissing at the hem of his underwear. The hand that cupped Keith’s face now buries itself in his hair, and the other goes up to cover the moans slipping from his lips. Switching the position of his hands to fondle Shiro’s balls, Keith rises to pull Shiro’s hand back.

 

“I want to hear you.” 

 

“God, Keith.” Shiro moans. Keith adds pressure to his cock as a reward. 

 

“I love it when you get loud.” He presses a kiss to the shell of his ear before pulling at his lobe with his teeth. “I love hearing how good you feel.”

 

This pulls a groan from Shiro. Keith slips his hand inside the strap and palms him roughly, panting into his ear. He kisses down his neck and chest once more, slipping down the article of clothing without preamble. His lashes flutter at the sight of Shiro’s pretty cock flushed red against his abdomen, glistening the skin with precome. 

 

As he bites his lip, Keith grips the base, pulling it forward to meet his mouth and he kisses the sides, tonguing up the thick vein on the underside and popping his lips on the crown. He looks up through his bangs to see Shiro staring at him with a dark gaze, eyebrows knit together in utter pleasure. Keith runs his tongue over his slit, tasting his musk and dragging it around the head. A heavy breath falls from Shiro’s mouth. 

 

Wrapping his lips around the crown, Keith suctions his cheeks and dives as low as he can. Shiro’s cock almost hits the back of his throat before he pulls back, only to dive back down and repeat the process. Shiro shifts and tries his best not to buck up, lest he choke him, and leaves him to his pace. 

 

When Keith pulls off with a pop and gasp, saliva and cum connecting his upper and lower lip in a string, Shiro throws his head back in a loud moan. He gives his dick a few strokes, gripping a tad tighter at the head to squeeze the precome between his fingers before sinking back down on it. 

 

He hums around the length, the vibrations raising goosebumps along Shiro’s skin, dulling the white noise in his head and the click in his ear. With one hand, Keith fondles his balls again, rubbing and pinching softly, just how he knows will make Shiro keen and whine. His other hand, coated in come, runs down the cleft of his ass and rubs circles at his entrance. 

 

Meeting Keith’s determined gaze, Shiro bites his lip and whispers, “Yes, yes,  _ yes.” _

 

Keith pushes the tip of his finger inside, slowly, patiently, thrusting in and out until he’s deep into his second knuckle. A loud groan is ripped from Shiro’s chest, the mix of Keith’s mouth on his cock and his finger in his ass enough to make him double over Keith’s head and grip at his hair. 

 

“Nnn,” he groans over red bitten lips. “ _ Fuck,  _ Keith!”

 

He matches his head to his thrusting, bobbing and gagging slightly, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. He pulls off to regain his breath when Shiro gives a sudden thrust up and chokes him, pumping his shaft as he fingers him.

 

It’s not long before Keith’s slipping in another finger, the stretch burning and making Shiro fall back on the floor completely, legs spread and hips thrusting. 

 

Kissing his hip, Keith throws his head to the side to flip his hair, his hand movements making strands fall back down over his eyes. Like this, he looks ethereal-- not that he didn’t before, but Shiro has to bite back the literal scream when he locks eyes with Keith’s Galra purple as he fingers and jerks him off. 

 

“Come on, baby,” Keith groans against his hip. “Shit, you look so good like this.”

 

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers back.

 

“I love you.” Keith plants a kiss on his hip. “I love you so much.” He pulls Shiro’s cock back in his mouth, going down, down, down until his nose rubs against his abdomen. He hums, tongue running wild, throat clenching around the crown. Two fingers pump in and out at a quick pace, curling and twisting and jabbing at all the right spots until Shiro’s grip on Keith’s hair is hard enough to hurt. 

 

“Oh-- my--  _ FUCK!”  _

 

He comes hard and heavy in his partner’s mouth. 

 

Keith pulls back, though he swallows all of Shiro’s load, hot and bitter, grinning as he rubs the pads of his fingers around his entrance and rubs him through his orgasm. 

 

“Keith--” Shiro starts. His underwear hangs by his ankle, and Keith bites his thigh to keep back a moan at the sight of Shiro’s pleasure post-orgasm. Laughter sprouts from his mouth, incredulity vining through his chest as he meets Keith’s half-lidded gaze and clear arousal. “Come here.”

 

Crawling over his body, Keith settles himself straddling Shiro’s thin waist. He meets him with a kiss, open and wet and rough, tongues sliding. Shiro moans and sucks himself from Keith’s lips, slipping a hand between them and rubbing Keith’s dick, the other digging its fingers into his naked back. Already keyed up and hard as a rock, Keith pants open-mouthed against Shiro’s lips, and, soon enough, he comes in his underwear with his lover’s name on his lips. 

 

Keith slumps against him, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s middle and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. The stars still move around them, planets gyrating and meteors blazing through. In a few hours, everyone in the Castle will be up and about, including him and Keith. He should at least pull his briefs up and make himself decent if they're found, but, as Keith mumbles praises against his neck and presses kisses to his love bites, Shiro finds he couldn't give less of a damn.

 

“I love you.” Keith murmurs. 

 

Shiro smiles, kissing his hair. “I love you more.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: shibarikeith


End file.
